Chapter 3 #2
“Then don’t look too far ahead. My advice is to take one day at a time. Some days, that is all you can do.”
For a moment, Evander said nothing, his thoughts tangled and heavy. Then he tipped his head in a quiet gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, Bedford.”
His friend responded in kind, understanding passing between them without need for further words.
Evander stepped towards his waiting coach, and the door shut with a soft thud. The vehicle lurched forward, merging into the flow of traffic along the gaslit street.
He leaned back against the worn velvet of the bench.
His eyes drifted closed for a moment as exhaustion pressed down upon him.
A wild, fleeting impulse seized him. He could tell the driver to keep going—past Mayfair, past the boundaries of Town, into the countryside beyond.
To drive and drive until the weight of duty and grief could no longer find him.
But he knew better. Running would not solve what awaited him. It would only worsen it.
No.
He drew in a slow, deliberate breath. I must face this. Face my father. Face my mother. Face this new life I did not choose.
And above all, he hoped he might do so without losing the man he had spent years becoming.
Olivia exited her bedchamber and descended the staircase.
She had been rudely awakened that morning by a particularly insistent bird that had taken up residence on the windowsill just outside her chamber.
After tossing about in bed with the pillow pressed over her head to no avail, she had at last surrendered to the morning and decided to join her family for breakfast, though it was hardly a choice she embraced with enthusiasm.
As she entered the dining room, a shaft of sunlight illuminated the long table set with gleaming silver and steaming dishes. Seated together at one end were her brother and Dosia as they read the newssheets.
“Good morning,” Olivia greeted.
Richard looked up with a boyish grin. “Olivia, I am astonished to see you awake at such an indecent hour,” he teased, folding his newssheets.
“I thought I might grace you both with my presence at this godforsaken time,” Olivia replied airily, moving to sit across from them.
Dosia glanced up with a warm smile. “It is nearly noon.”
“My point exactly,” Olivia quipped, settling into her chair and placing a starched linen napkin upon her lap with a sigh of exaggerated weariness. “You two wake far too early. I daresay you make a habit of it.”
“I happen to enjoy seizing the day,” Richard said cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “Dosia and I have already been for a ride this morning.”
“How very joyful for you,” Olivia murmured, reaching for a cup of thick, fragrant chocolate. She took a long sip, savoring the warmth.
“You are remarkably pleasant today,” Richard teased.
“I nearly committed murder this morning,” Olivia replied. “A small bird has taken it upon itself to perch outside my window and chirp incessantly. Day and night.”
Richard set the newssheets aside, eyes twinkling. “You could always shut your window.”
“And be denied fresh air? Absolutely not. I refuse to let the bird win,” she replied with a shake of her head. “However, I have given considerable thought to the possibility of serving bird for dinner.”
“You most certainly will not,” Richard said, a grin tugging at his mouth.
Olivia sighed dramatically. “You are right. If I were to dispatch one bird, I would surely provoke the wrath of its kin. A veritable avian uprising would follow, and I should never sleep again.”
Richard chuckled. “You have clearly spent too much time pondering this.”
“Oh, I have,” Olivia admitted with a nod. “As I lay in bed this morning, I devised no fewer than five methods of silencing the wretched creature.”
“Five?” Richard repeated.
“Indeed,” she said. “Though I must confess, none were entirely humane.” She took another sip of chocolate. “I do like birds in general. But there are limits to my patience.”
Richard glanced at Dosia, an exaggerated look of concern in his eyes. “Do you think Olivia is bottle-weary this morning?”
His wife laughed. “Not at all. She makes perfect sense to me.”
“Traitor,” Richard said lightly.
Reaching for his hand, Dosia smiled. “Never, my love. Besides, I have long suspected that birds are not as innocent as they appear. They know precisely what they are about.”
Richard lifted her hand to his lips, eyes gleaming with fondness. “How is it I did not know this about you before we wed?”
“You never thought to ask my opinions on birds,” Theodosia replied, her tone playful.
“No, I did not,” Richard murmured. “But I shall endeavor to ensure no feathered fiend disturbs your slumber, my lady.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “I preferred it when you two were perpetually at odds. It made for far better entertainment.”
Richard released Dosia’s hand and leaned back in his chair. “And how do you intend to occupy your day, dear sister?”
“I thought to call upon Lady Everwyck,” Olivia replied. “Evander mentioned her health is declining.”
A voice from the doorway interrupted them. “I shall accompany you.”
Olivia turned to find her mother entering the room. “Very well,” she said. “But may I ask why? I usually call alone.”
Her mother moved to the end of the table, smoothing her dark blue skirts before taking a seat. “Circumstances are different now.”
“In what way?” Olivia asked, brows knitting together.
Her mother’s tone was patient but firm. “Evander is now the heir. It would be highly inappropriate for you to call unchaperoned.”
Olivia frowned. “I am visiting Lady Everwyck—not Evander. And our families have been friends since I was a child.”
Richard cleared his throat. “Mother is correct. Your reputation is already... fragile. We must take care not to worsen matters.”
Olivia sighed. “Perhaps I should simply remain here and resign myself to an utterly uneventful existence.”
“Be serious, Olivia,” her mother admonished. “You must accept that these are the consequences of your choices. You eloped to Gretna Green with Mr. Smith.”
A flush crept up Olivia’s cheeks. “Thank you for the reminder,” she said coolly.
Her mother’s expression softened. “I know this is difficult. But we must weather this scandal—together.”
Richard bobbed his head. “The ton is a fickle beast. In time, another scandal will capture their attention.”
“Wonderful,” Olivia said dryly, picking up her fork.
As Olivia pushed the food about her plate, her appetite all but vanished, and the familiar wave of guilt rose in her throat, bitter and unrelenting.
It was her fault—entirely her fault. Her foolish decisions had not only ruined her own prospects but cast an unwelcome shadow over her family as well.
Richard was determined to repair the damage she had wrought, to shoulder the burden she had placed upon them, but it was not his responsibility.
It was hers. And she alone must find a way to set things right.
But how?
The question haunted her waking thoughts, as relentless as the bird that had driven her from sleep.
She could think of only one clear solution—marriage.
A well-made match could begin to restore her tarnished reputation.
But who among Society would risk even the appearance of courting her now?
No one would dare. Her name had become the subject of drawing room whispers and smirking glances.
The thought of enduring more of that empty pretense made her stomach twist. Better, then, to simply step aside from Society altogether.
To embrace spinsterhood, fade into the background, and allow her family’s life to resume untroubled by her presence.
No one would miss me if I did.
Dosia’s voice pulled her from her dark reverie. “Do not give up hope, Olivia.”
Olivia looked up. “It is far easier to forgo hope than to believe there is any bright future left for me.”
“You do have a future,” Richard interjected. “I will find a way to fix this.”
She forced a faint smile to her lips. He meant well—he always had. That was what she loved most about him. “Thank you,” she replied softly, knowing there was no use arguing with him. They were both far too stubborn to sway one another.
Their mother glanced at the long clock in the corner of the dining room. “Shall we be off?” she asked, rising gracefully to her feet.
Olivia took a final sip of her chocolate and stood. “Yes, I think a visit to Lady Everwyck would do me some good.”
“I am certain it will do her good as well,” her mother said. “She often complains of the tedium of her bedchamber.”
Richard rose with them and caught Olivia’s gaze. “You will be just fine.”
She lowered her eyes to the floor, her heart too heavy to meet his optimism. “I wish I could believe that,” she murmured, before following her mother from the dining room.
In the entry hall, as they waited for the coach to be brought round, her mother spoke again. “How is Evander faring?”
“He is as well as can be expected,” Olivia answered. “But I know him. He is struggling beneath it all.”
Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know you wish to help him, my dear, but it might be best to distance yourself.”
“And why is that?”
Turning to face her daughter fully, her mother’s expression softened with compassion. “You carry a scandal about you. And Evander has only just inherited his title. Do you truly wish to see the gossips sharpen their tongues against him as well?”
The words stung because they rang with truth. “No. I do not,” she responded.
“I say this not to wound you,” her mother continued. “But because I know how much you care for him. Protecting him may mean stepping back—for now.”
Olivia swallowed hard. Her mother was right, as painful as it was to admit. She would not be the cause of more hardship for Evander. She loved him too dearly to see his name dragged through the mud alongside hers.
At that moment, Sterling appeared and opened the door. “The coach is ready, my ladies.”
Together, they stepped outside and entered the coach.
As the door shut and the vehicle moved forward, Olivia turned her gaze to the passing streets beyond the window.
How had her life come to this? All because of one terrible mistake.
One reckless, foolish moment when she had believed Lord Harwood’s promises.
The journey passed swiftly, and soon they arrived before the grand stone facade of the Everwyck townhouse. The coach drew to a halt, and they disembarked. Ascending the wide steps, her mother knocked firmly upon the door.
It opened almost at once. The butler greeted them with a courteous bow. “Lady Wilton. Lady Olivia. You are most welcome.”
“Is Lady Everwyck receiving callers?” her mother inquired.
“Her ladyship gave strict instructions that you were always welcome,” the butler replied. “Please follow me. I shall show you to the parlor.”
“She is not in her bedchamber?” Olivia asked.
The butler led them down the corridor, replying over his shoulder, “Lady Everwyck requested a change of scenery this morning.”
“I suppose she is entitled,” Olivia remarked with a faint smile.
They had just reached the parlor door when a familiar figure approached from the far end of the corridor. Evander. His expression flickered with surprise when he saw them.
“Olivia. Lady Wilton,” he greeted, drawing nearer. “What brings you here today?”
“We’ve come to visit your mother,” Olivia replied.
“That is most kind of you,” he said sincerely. “Do you call upon her often?”
“As much as time permits,” Olivia answered.
Evander stopped before them, his gaze resting on hers. “I have no doubt that she cherishes your visits.”
“She has always been kind to me. It is the least I can do. And her wit is as sharp as ever, even if her body betrays her.”
“Here—allow me.” Evander opened the parlor door.
As Olivia moved to follow her mother inside, she felt a light touch on her arm. She turned to find Evander beside her, his voice hushed. “I need your help.”
“Always,” she replied without hesitation.
His jaw tightened. “I have not yet told my mother about Bryon. Would you remain with me when I do?”
She met his gaze steadily. “I would be honored.”
“‘Honored’ is not the word I would use,” he muttered, releasing her arm but lingering close.
“Then let us do it now. Together.”
His lips curved faintly. “Thank you. I can always count on you.”
“Yes, you can.”
Before they could speak further, her mother’s voice rang out from within the parlor. “Are you two quite finished? We are here to visit Lady Everwyck, not to gossip in the hall.”
Evander straightened. “I assure you, Lady Wilton, we are not gossiping.”
“Come along, then,” her mother said, gesturing them to enter with a wave of her hand.